The Time of our Lives
by Fandom Angst
Summary: Can four young people with dark pasts and difficult home lives find comfort and happiness in their friendship, or will their difficulties destroy their relationships... and themselves? Contains adult themes throughout, including child abuse and alcoholism. Possible progression to further mature themes in later chapters.
1. The Prince's Palace

He sat up and let his head rest against the cold wall.

A dream.

Just another dream.

He exhaled. Ran a hand distractedly through his untidy hair. He was clammy… he should shower. But the bathroom was unlikely to be free.

As expected, when Yuki emerged from his bedroom the door at the end of the corridor stared back at him; closed and unrelenting with its white peeling paint. There was always someone in, especially in the morning. He sighed half-heartedly and retreated back into his room to change his clothes.

He was the only one with a room of his own. And he was grateful, he really was. He didn't know how he'd fare sharing with someone else; maybe a surly teenager, or a needy child… or worse, one who had recently been _left_. Those were the most difficult to be around, to live with.

They had all been one of those at one time or another. The Left Ones. They all knew how it felt, but that didn't mean they wanted to be reminded. Ever. And a recently dropped off child was just that; a reminder of what they all were.

It was the dreams that did it really. Yuki wasn't in a room of his own for his own happiness... but for others'. It was an embarrassing and exhausting routine; the sinister dreams, the feeling of suffocation, the jerking awake amidst a fit of screams… but it had at least secured him some privacy. And in a place this busy Yuki was profoundly grateful for a moment alone.

He padded along the corridor, focusing on the feel of the soft carpet through the hole in his sock rather than his dream. Distracting, ignoring and pretending. Then back to sleep for another one.

Down the stairs he counted every stripe of coloured paint on the walls. Red. Blue. Yellow. Purple. Orange. Green. Pink. Red again… It was measured and rhythmical. The spaces between the lines were even, repetitive. A neat design, it spoke to him of safety. Those lines were steady and trustworthy; never would an unexpected gap appear to swallow him up. Red, blue, yellow, purple… safe and steady… until he reached the bottom of the stairs.

Rounding the corner he was suddenly assaulted with a wall of noise. Commands and demands, chatting and complaining and the keen squeak of wooden chair legs on vinyl. A small glance back at the safe stripes before he steeled himself and entered the room.

A couple of faces turned up from the table at his entrance but their interest in him was limited and they soon returned to their breakfast. He was often busy with school or work, and was quiet when he was present, so he wasn't very close to any of them. That, and he sensed some of them were nervous of him. He was sorry for that, but he could hardly help it.

He selected a bowl from the assorted selection and poured himself some cereal. He took this and a glass of water to a vacant seat, nodding slightly at Kureno, the young support worker currently engaged in a battle of breakfast wits with a cranky toddler. Left to himself Yuki wouldn't eat breakfast; he tended to have a small appetite and was rarely hungry when he woke up. But he'd made a deal with Kureno, and the eagle-eyed man would make sure he kept to his word. Yuki was the oldest in the home, at seventeen. He was legally allowed to leave and when he turned eighteen he would be _expected_ to leave.

But… he didn't know how to leave, where to go, what to do…

So Kureno had involved himself. Yuki could stay as long as he needed, provided he complete his final year of high school and follow the house rules. Yuki had no issue with this. He liked school, enjoyed learning and got fairly good grades. However he had nothing, and he would have left school and begun working full-time if not for Kureno. If he had a proper job, money, maybe he would feel like he had something… like he was someone. Maybe it could fill the ravenous emptiness which slumbered within him. But maybe it wouldn't. And then what would he do? That disappointment might prove too difficult for Yuki to accept.

Besides he respected Kureno, and he owed him. He had been there for Yuki when he needed him, when he returned to the home after…

Kureno had been patient and kind. He had stayed away when Yuki needed to be alone and held him close when he needed to be reassured. He had traced elegant dark blue swallows on the walls of Yuki's bedroom, four of them, swooping up the wall by his bed towards the window. And he told Yuki he could escape this feeling too.

So Yuki now obediently spooned cereal into his mouth, barely tasting it but finishing his bowl. And he wasn't resentful, he was grateful. This place was everything to him. It was familiarity and safety, like the stripes on the stairs. Living here didn't bother him at all. He almost liked it.

It was the people out there he didn't like.

After eating Yuki went for a walk. As soon as the front door closed behind him the quiet seemed to sneak up. Inside there was so much noise; staff trying to organise, children playing and crying, teenagers arguing or blasting music from phones and Ipods. Out here it was quiet. There was a thrum of traffic a few streets away, a few birds chirping and the murmur of voices from two women pushing buggies along the pavement. But it was almost too quiet.

Yuki considered returning inside. The noise in the home was the worst thing about it; for Yuki it was overbearing and omnipresent and sometimes startling. But it was also the best thing about it. Because attempting to cope with and process the noise and to focus on individual sounds required so much effort and energy that while he was doing it he was able to forget…

He began walking, carefully locking the gate to the garden behind him. He felt anxious somehow. Perhaps he was still shaken from his dream. He knew he would have felt better if he'd showered. Perhaps he should have waited until the bathroom was free- he could still go back…? But no, he pushed himself on. He knew if he waited until he was comfortable he would never leave. And he knew very well that was a bad cycle to become trapped in.

It was a Sunday morning and the streets were quiet. Yuki liked that. He went to school during the week and worked in a busy restaurant on Saturdays and on Thursday nights. So he liked Sundays and the feeling of walking freely without time restraints. Today was not a typical meander however; Yuki had a destination in mind. He headed there now, hoping he could remember the way.

Yuki had been there twice before. It was somewhere he had discovered recently on his frequent wanderings and he had decided it was perfect for his needs. He walked on briskly, rather enjoying the sharp coolness of the air as it cleared his head. He had memorised the way after struggling to find it the week before and panicking. Now it was almost easy and soon it appeared before him. His palace.

He stepped over beer cans and crisp packets as he approached. The gravel crunched under his feet, mixed with cigarette butts. Weeds twisted their way up towards him, straining towards the sky as they forced themselves through the clusters of rusted metal. He stepped over an old deflated tyre and carefully shifted two damp, rotting wooden planks. And he was back.

The first time he had seen the dilapidated shed, almost swallowed up by rubbish and debris, and wearing a proud coat of rust, he nearly ignored it. It was the natural response to such blatant decay; to reject. People looked for the clean, the safe, the neat and easy. They didn't want broken glass and gratified walls. Yuki had no idea how long the shed had lain unused and forgotten, but judging by the healthy growth of ivy over the door it had been a considerable time.

With caution he moved a large sheet of corrugated iron which served as an entrance. He ducked low and entered, noting that it was slightly warmer inside, and protected by the wind. He thought every time he saw the shed it seemed more appealing. The rubbish no longer disgusted him, and the weeds seemed more like flowers one would plant in their front gardens.

There was still ample light within the shed thanks to a large dusted window. The dull light which filtered in highlighted several shelves holding a variety of chipped pots and rusted gardening tools. But in pride of place, directly beneath the pool of light, was a faded blue sofa. Yuki now replaced the sheet of iron, leaving it slightly ajar to allow a little more light in. He turned and sank into the sofa. It was old and well-used and sank ungracefully under him. But it was comfortable enough. He had found the couch behind the shed, in a grassy area which bordered a small copse of trees. The shed was a little way away from the nearest street of houses but it seemed people had previously used this place to dispose of unwanted goods. Behind the shed was an assortment of junk including a half buried chair, a broken table being swallowed by long grass and nettles and a dented TV. From there Yuki had rescued the couch and lugged it into the shed.

Now it sat in the centre, and he was almost proud of it. This little space he had found, where there was no noise and no people, and he had a lovely, if sagging, couch. He sat back against the cushions and breathed deeply. Somewhere like this... it was really what he needed, he thought. He liked walking because it cleared his head, but in walking you encountered people, and he would sometimes panic thinking he recognised them. But this place, whilst lacking the constant bustle of the children's home, also protected him from people.

It was dusty and dark, and full of useless, broken things. But it was comforting and safe and peaceful. And it was his space.

Yuki kicked off his shoes and curled his legs beside him on the couch. It was very relaxing. A cold Sunday morning, nowhere to go... and somewhere he could feel safe.

Yuki closed his eyes and sank deeper into the couch as the tension left his muscles...

An hour later he jolted awake. There was a crashing sound coming from outside. Grunts and bangs and angry cursing. He sat straight up, his mouth dry and his back as stiff as a rod. The violent noises were coming closer and Yuki wanted to grab his shoes. He wanted to be as far away from that man's anger as possible. But his hands, bent tightly into fists, had seized and he couldn't move them. He sat frozen and terrified.

There was a great wrenching sound and suddenly the iron door was moving. Someone was coming in. And there was nothing Yuki could do but wait.

..

* * *

 **So... here we go again! Thank you to anyone who's reading this.**

 **I think this may be quite a slow-burner... firstly because maybe it will be longish... and also because I'm very slow and lazy...**

 **Please let me know what you think!**


	2. Rainbow Confetti

He opened his eyes and stretched lazily. He pushed the curtains open and fumbled for his watch. Peering blearily at the cracked face he tried to read the time. Almost ten... almost ten and his mother hadn't shouted at him to wake up. Something caught in his chest. He swung agilely from his bed and padded to the bedroom door. He stood still for a moment.

And he knew.

He knew he would have to be very careful.

A heavy silence seemed to rest on the house. A silence so thick it threatened to choke him. And he knew his relaxing day was over. This silence... it was dangerous. In a way it was even more dangerous than the shouting and smashing. Because the silence always came after, and it always came before.

Haru crept down the stairs to confirm what he knew. Before he reached the small living room he stopped. The smell. The thick, cloying scent of alcohol and sweat. Maybe he could just stay here, in this narrow hallway with its peeling paint barely concealed by ugly paintings of flowers. But he had to pass the living room to reach the kitchen, where his mother would be. So he continued.

The living room was small and drab. The central focus was a small television set, around which everything else was angled. There was a small glass table and a mismatched armchair and couch. It was on the couch his father lay sprawled.

Haru paused a moment over the back of the couch. In a way his father was handsome. He had strong, high cheekbones and thick black hair. Though they were closed now his eyes were a rich dark brown which Haru knew well. But now his hair was slick with sweat around his temples and he had put on weight in the past few years so there was an unattractive paunch splayed around his once sharp chin. And, no matter how rich in colour eyes become grossly ugly when filled with the cruelty and anger which so often lurked in Haru's father's.

He moved on, noting the old blanket which had been tucked over his father's large form. His mother's back was to him when he cautiously entered the kitchen. She was bent over the ironing board, focusing, slowly ironing one of his father's shirts. He had learnt to move silently, so silently he had to clear his throat to announce his arrival. She spun quickly, the iron still clutched in her hand. Her quickly greying hair was loose and lank and she wore a flowered apron over silk pyjamas.

For a moment, just a moment, Haru wanted her to smile, to hold him close, to offer to make him breakfast, to tell him it was going to be ok... just _anything_ , anything to comfort him. Anything that would make the terrifying bubble of pain and anger which nestled deep within his chest less of a threat.

But he was sixteen, and that was the foolish dream of a child.

His mother's lined face sharpened in an instant. "What sort of time do you call this?" she snapped in an angry whisper.

And Haru suddenly felt very sad. "I'm sorry" he muttered, his eyes downcast.

"Do you know how many things we've got to get done?"

Haru reached past her and grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and a box of cereal from the cabinet. There was no milk so he ate it dry.

"I know mum, I'm sorry. I'll do them. I just... slept in I guess."

"You know the house needs to look nice. And you know sweetie don't you, how difficult it is for me... it's these migraines darling. You have no idea the pain." As she spoke she reached for a glass of clear liquid on the cabinet and took a substantial drink.

Haru fought the urge to knock the glass from her hand.

"You'll finish this for me, won't you dear?" she gestured to the pile of ironing.

Haru nodded tersely.

"Oh never-mind your cereal dear, do it now won't you, before he wakes up. And there's a list of things to get at the shops. And the toilet needs cleaned, and the bin is overflowing, - don't you think that should have been emptied yesterday Hatsuharu?"

Haru grimaced as she said this, feeling both ashamed and angry in equal measure.

"Oh don't look like that dear, you know I need your help. How am I to do all these things? It's so awfully tiring for me. That's why I need you, my special boy."

She stood watching him, swaying ever so slightly, seemingly waiting for an answer.

"I'll do it all mum, you're right."

"Of course I am." She passed him to leave the kitchen. "I'm not feeling so good dear, maybe another headache coming on..."

Maybe she thought he didn't notice her picking up the bottle of gin as she left, or maybe she didn't think there was anything wrong with it.

Haru sat still for a moment, feeling faintly humiliated. Then he pushed himself from the table, leaving his cereal half-eaten, and began to iron his father's shirts.

It was always like this. His mum always made him feel guilty somehow. She managed to twist everything that happened so that it was his fault. She said the house had to be clean or his father would kill her, but he never did hurt her, only Haru. But she wouldn't leave. She was too comfortable here, with her husband and her house and her constant supply of cheap alcohol. What could possibly be wrong with that? But Haru lived in fear. One word wrong... a mistake... something forgotten... a bad grade at school... misbehaving... all of it meant fear and pain.

He had wanted to leave, had even mentioned it to his mother before. But she had somehow turned it around and made him feel awful: "But darling if you left he would hurt me, he would hurt me so much Hatsuharu dear! He would kill me! Darling after all that I've done for you and him- how could you even think that? I'm so weak darling, and so tired with all my bad headaches. What would I do if you left? How would I get all the housework done before he came home? Do you want that dear? If you leave I'll die!"

If you leave I'll die... _If you leave I'll die..._

Those words haunted Haru's dreams and waking hours alike. He was anxious most of the time, and his father scared him. But he would never leave. _Could_ never leave. Not now his mother had said that. His father scared him, but his mother made him feel dirty and worthless. And those words of hers chained him to this house… this family… forever.

So Haru completed his chores diligently. He had no thought of meeting friends or playing games. He would do his chores and his homework. His mother was upstairs, watching soaps and reading magazines and falling into drunken stupors. His cereal still lay forgotten on the table. And he waited for his father to wake up. And prayed he would be finished the chores by then so they could pretend his mother had done them.

.

Haru was chopping vegetables when his father awoke. He was rather enjoying the rhythm of the chopping, and cooking for the family had come to be relaxing to him over the past few years. As long as his father liked the food.

When he heard movement from the living room and the low murmur of the television, the knot of anxiety tightened in his chest and his rhythm faltered. He needed to get the rhythm back, to keep going and keep calm and not say anything wrong. One, two, three… One, two, three… One, two, three…

His father appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. The blanket lay discarded on the floor by the couch. Haru kept chopping, attempting to keep his breathing and his hand steady. One, two, three… One, two, three… One-

"Your mother didn't feel like making lunch today then?"

A simple enough question but the meaning behind it made the knife judder in Haru's hands. His palms were clammy.

"Father" he said, turning dutifully to the doorway as though he had just noticed him there. And he knew he shouldn't- he really knew he shouldn't- but he always ended up lying for his mother. "Oh mum just went upstairs, she asked me to finish these off..."

His voice sounded foreign even to his ears, high and strained. His father lumbered into the room slowly, perfectly at ease in stark contrast to Haru's tension.

"Did she now?" his father murmured.

Haru thought better than to reply. He tipped a bundle of vegetables into a pan and continued cutting others, though his chopping was now irregular and untidy. His father walked around the table to the counter where Haru stood chopping, his eyes lingering over the abandoned cereal as he passed.

"Hatsuharu." He was quiet for so long that Haru wasn't sure he was going to continue. But then he did, in a soft voice. "I am used to that woman lying to me... but Hatsuharu, why do you lie? That really, really hurts me when you lie."

Haru's chopping had ceased now and he found he couldn't continue. He stood still in front of the counter, the knife still clutched loosely in his sweating hand as his father came to stand behind him.

"I wanted to make lunch father... I enjoy it. And it'll be ready soon. And I'll really try my best to make it good..." His pleading sounded weak and pathetic and made him angry at himself.

"You _wanted_ to?" his father almost whispered. "And did you want to do the ironing and the shopping too?"

"Mother did those," Haru managed to say, "this morning. I slept in late."

His thought was only of protecting his mother. In doing so he had condemned himself.

"She did those? She's useless, and has you running around cooking like some pansy." Haru swallowed, almost hopeful that this would be the end. "But... you say you slept in late Hatsuharu? Why did you do that? Don't you have school work to do?"

"I- I do… I mean, I did. I finished it already. It was just biology homework." His voice was strained and timid but he was almost confident by the end that it would be fine. That this time he would pass. That he wouldn't have said the wrong thing…

"Just biology? _Just_ biology? Is that how you think, Hatsuharu?"

And he saw his mistake all too clearly.

"Oh no- that's not what I meant- I only meant that-"

"I know what you _meant_ Hatsuharu. You meant biology is easy, didn't you? That anyone who can't do biology is an idiot. Well why don't you tell me that straight, boy? Turn around right now, look your father in the eye, and tell him he's an idiot for failing sciences."

Haru stood frozen, the chopping long forgotten and the knife hanging limp in his sweating, trembling hand. How had things gone so wrong? He always said the wrong thing. Why couldn't he just _think_? But every conversation was a minefield, every question a trap, and he could never see how to navigate safely. And now he was acutely aware of his father behind him; of the closeness of their bodies, the feeling of his father's breath on the back of his neck. And he didn't know what to do. Was there any way to avoid this?

"Turn around Hatsuharu. _Do it_!"

Haru was steeling himself to turn when the decision was taken from him.

In a moment of speed and pain his father pushed his head forward. It hit forcefully off the kitchen cupboard, striking along the sharp bottom ridge, and ricocheted.

Haru staggered, his vision blurry and his mind flooded with shock. He should have expected it, but somehow he never did. Maybe he really was as stupid as everyone thought. His head was throbbing painfully and through swimming eyes he saw a smudge of red had appeared on the bright cream of the cupboard door.

"You're slow. _Always_ too slow. And you're a weak snob who lies and disrespects me! I never thought I'd have a liar as a son- but worse, I _never_ thought I'd have a son who disrespected me! You and your whore mother!"

With this shouted accusation came a painful jab to the ribs, and before Haru could respond another blow followed, then another.

He met the floor before long, and without truly understanding how. He tried to curl in on himself for protection as kicks and cruel words followed.

And a part of him knew he didn't deserve this. But a part of him told him he must.

He didn't see it but he vaguely knew his father had upturned the chopping board over him. He saw, almost in slow-motion, as the chopped vegetables cascaded down to where he lay and settled around him like rainbow confetti. It was strangely surreal and beautiful.

He heard his mother before he saw her.

There was the usual "No stop stop, don't hurt him!" and "Oh darling what did you do now?" and "He didn't mean it, he's sorry- that's enough now just stop!"

But when his vision cleared Haru could see through the kitchen doorway to where his mother hovered in the living room. She held a cigarette loosely in one hand and had procured a glass of watery red wine which she held shakily in the other hand.

Yet as he watched from the floor, spluttering and coughing in pain, he saw something far more hurtful. For even as she begged his father to stop- "It's too much now, he's my baby- stop!"- her eyes would always inevitably drift back to the gameshow on the television.

"Stop" she muttered, and took an unfocused slurp of wine, her attention on the screen.

And Haru felt truly alone.

.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading this story, and especially thank you to ImpishTopHat, Killer Disco Queen and SweetLiars for your lovely feedback.**

 **I had to split this chapter in two because I kept writing more and more about Haru- so expect more Haru in the next chapter too!**


	3. The Destruction of Broken Things

Later that day Haru's father went out with friends from work, as he so often did. Left with his mother Haru felt, if possible, even worse. She absently examined his split lip and the bruises blooming across his stomach and chest. Haru's whole body ached and he felt very tired.

He leaned against the living room wall as his mother lifted his t-shirt to inspect his ribs. And he almost relaxed. Just for a second. It was almost… comforting. It was almost as though he was hurt and had a mother who cared.

Then she shattered the moment.

"Why do you always have to provoke him Hatsuharu?" his mother asked tersely without looking at him. "If you were good this wouldn't happen."

It was as though she had crushed something crucial inside him. More than the physical pain of his body, this hurt, in a way simultaneously more demanding and resonant. Her words spiked him like acid and he was instantly both ashamed and furious.

"Yeah you've said" he muttered, harsher than he had intended.

She looked wounded, withdrawing her hand from his stomach. He felt guilty immediately. He needed to get out of here. His emotions were all over the place and he needed to breathe. Around his mum he never felt he could truly catch a breath; there was always something sticking in his chest.

"Look sorry mum. I'm just going out for a bit, okay? I'll be back soon, in time for dinner. And I'll do the dusting this evening?"

He was asking her... but he was also telling her. He rose as he spoke and moved away from where she was kneeling on the thin carpet.

He needed to get out. Away from this damn house.

"But Hatsuharu-" his mother began, a whine in her voice.

He ignored her, striding down the short hall and roughly pulling on his combat boots at the front door.

"You had better be back for dinner!" was the parting warning behind him as he slammed out of the house.

As soon as he left he felt better. But he still needed to be far away. He had so much emotion and adrenaline burning through him and he needed to shake it off, needed to channel it into exercise or take it out on inanimate objects that couldn't feel pain or fight back.

If not he would become angry. _Really_ angry.

The feelings of worthlessness would morph into anger and a need to attack, to defend himself. It had gotten him in trouble before, mostly at school but sometimes with neighbourhood kids and, worse, sometimes with his father.

He began to run, to run fast and furiously away from his life. As he pushed himself forward and the pain began to streak down the back of his legs and to build in his chest he pushed himself further. He had to burn off this feeling. He had to return home calm and empty. So he pushed himself on.

The afternoon was cold and his breath came out in great gasps of white vapour. Haru felt hot however. He was burning. He didn't know where he was running to. He only knew that he needed to channel this anger somehow.

He ran and ran until he was suddenly bent over, clutching his legs for support as he dry-heaved.

He drew a shaking hand across his clammy face. Raising himself slowly he looked around. He had no idea where he was, especially in the fading light of the afternoon. He was just passed the end of a row of small houses with untidy gardens. He seemed to have reached the end of the street, as the road didn't continue and grass strewn with weeds took over hungrily. There was a small group of trees in the distance. Littering the damp grass was a variety of junk. Haru could see pieces of broken wood, a discarded television, an old lamp and a smashed mirror.

Taking a deep breath he reasoned that he should return home, that he should try re-tracing his steps to get back to streets he knew. But he thought of his mother still on the floor where he had left her. Thought of her stirring her gin with coloured straws, dropping pills into the mix and laughing at Haru's reaction. He wondered if he would have to miss another day of school tomorrow to look after her. He thought of his father drinking at the local pub with the guys from work. Of him spending their rent money on beers for everyone. He thought of how his father sneered at him, as though he was a joke... a disappointment.

And he knew he wasn't ready to go home yet. He needed to smash something.

Striding into the damp grass he kicked aimlessly at a half-buried table and was satisfied when he felt throbbing pain in his foot. He grabbed a piece of scrap wood and brought it crashing down against the old television set. The first few hits ricocheted off the frame disappointingly but the fourth smashed the glass of the screen. Haru smashed repeatedly, cursing as he did so, until the piece of wood splintered into three useless pieces.

He tossed them aside and moved on, kicking at the junk with immense satisfaction. This place was perfect; full of unwanted things that could face the darkness within him. No-one would care if damaged things were further broken. The anger he kept so carefully controlled at home tore through him and burst forth in harsh shouts. If he saw a person at this moment he didn't think that he'd be able to control himself as he gave in entirely to the rage.

Throwing aside a piece of rusted chain Haru viciously grazed his hand. He barely noticed the stinging or the blossoming of red along his palm as he approached a rundown shed which seemed to sprout from the surrounding rubble. With little thought as to what he would do once he was inside, Haru wrenched aside a large piece of corrugated iron at the door of the shed and stumbled inside.

It was dark; that was the first thing he noticed. He looked around feverishly, desperate for things to break. Things to hurt. Things he could hurt which could make him, for just one minute, forget the damn agony inside.

As his eyes grew accustomed to the dimness he realised with surprise that he was staring at a person. A boy of about his age.

In his current state of rage his instinct was to punch the boy. To chase him off, to shout and swear. He took a step towards him, not sure what exactly he was going to do.

But he stopped.

The boy was frozen, staring at him with wide eyes. Haru saw shoes neatly placed on the floor beside the old couch the boy was perched on. His bony knees were drawn up to his chest and his hands clutched them tightly. There was something about him that reminded Haru of an animal.

But... not so much a wild animal. More a cornered animal. Or a caged animal.

Whatever it was it stopped Haru mid-step. Because he knew that look. That look of fear, of helplessness, of pain. He had felt that look, had worn it himself many times.

And with the jarring realisation that _he_ had caused that look, he faltered in his approach towards the boy. He lowered the hand he hadn't realised he has raised, feeling vaguely guilty.

As he did so he realised he was bleeding. He felt the keen stinging of his hand, noticed how it trembled.

His chest rose and fell unevenly as he recovered from the spate of anger he had just experienced. He was sweating and shaking.

And the boy was still staring, unmoving.

Feeling calmer now, Haru took a step back, away from the boy. The boy blinked and his fingers loosened their grip on his knees infinitesimally.

Haru glanced again at his bleeding hand, acutely aware of the sharp pain of it now. He commented on this, without ever really deciding to.

"My hand is bleeding…" he muttered stupidly.

The boy stared for a moment more then nodded.

"Erm…" Haru wasn't sure what to do, what to say. He was ashamed of his anger. And it seemed he had scared this boy. But there was no way he was about to explain himself to this stranger. He couldn't talk to anyone about that stuff.

"I'm Hastuharu… Haru. I'm Haru."

The boy continued to stare at him. His hands had released his knees now but he was still huddled in on himself. With a slowly dawning thought, Haru considered that this may not be a normal reaction. Admittedly he had barged in breaking stuff and shouting but other people would have shouted at him to leave… maybe hit him. But this boy… he was just staring. He didn't respond.

Feeling even more regret about scaring this boy Haru stepped back out of the small shed. He would leave this boy and this shed and hope they would be alright. His hand throbbed angrily as he attempted to move the corrugated iron to re-cover the door.

Just as he was giving up to leave, he heard it.

"I… I'm Yuki…"

Haru poked his head back into the shed entrance once more. The boy was sitting normally now and appeared much more relaxed. Haru was surprised. He took a tentative step back into the rundown shed. The boy didn't move.

"Well… it's great to meet you Yuki. Sorry about… the noise." He gestured vaguely to the doorway of the shed, to show he meant his destruction of the junk. The boy's eyes narrowed slightly, but the slight quirk of his lips seemed to show he was amused. "So…" Haru continued, "What brings you to this… shed… this fine evening?"

.

* * *

 **So here's the rest of Haru's chapter. It's short but I wanted to put it up anyway to keep this story moving and because I'm going away on holiday tomorrow so won't be updating for a few weeks anyway.**

 **Please let me know what you think :) And have a good few weeks everyone!**


	4. Cats Always Land on their Feet

**Forewarning- if Kyos there, there will be bad language. Enjoy!**

* * *

Kyo dragged a match along the rough wall, waiting waiting…

It caught suddenly and the tiny flame flickered mesmerizingly. Kyo watched it closely, watched as it consumed the pale wood of the match. He watched right until the flame had chased itself towards his hand and he felt the burning pain in his thumb, then he dropped the match. It was extinguished immediately, and lay blackened and useless in the dirt.

Kyo sighed. Mostly he was bored. He was so damn bored he could eat himself.

He kicked at a patch of dandelions struggling through a crack and watched the white wisps catch in the chill evening breeze and flutter weakly away.

He hated staying at the flat when he mother was out. It made him restless and anxious, waiting for her to return. At the flat there was only the shouting of the couple next door, the creaking of bedsprings from the flat above and the occasional yelling from the derelict yard below when a fight broke out. On the evenings he wasn't working at the docks Kyo often went for a walk. Because he couldn't bear waiting alone, couldn't focus on his homework, couldn't bear feeling so claustrophobic in the small rooms.

He wandered aimlessly now, but he knew the streets so well that it didn't matter where he went. He kicked at some small stones and watched them scatter satisfyingly. He reached into his back pocket and drew out one of the cigarettes the older men at work had given him. Well, it was something to do. He struck another match and lit the cigarette. This time he couldn't be bothered waiting for the match to burn out so he tossed it high into the air above him. He wondered if it would strike him on its fall to the earth but rather disappointingly it had extinguished itself before it reached him.

Kyo took a drag of the cigarette, inhaling deeply. He didn't really _like_ smoking, but it wasn't unpleasant like it had been the first time he had tried it. He supposed in a way it was calming. And, it was something to do.

He vaguely registered the buildings emerging from the darkness in the orange glow of the streetlights and realised he was near to home. Whatever. He supposed he would go in and try some homework or clean the flat or try to sleep. Just something.

As he was crossing the street to his apartment building Kyo heard them. The bubble of voices, more brazen and slurred with the help of alcohol. He stopped for a moment. It was past midnight and he was cold in the thin t-shirt he wore. He didn't want trouble tonight. He would like to just go home now.

But then the group came into view and Kyo continued walking. He didn't back down, not ever. And they were between him and his home. They quickly spotted him, a lone figure walking at night, his shock of bright orange hair catching the dim light from the streetlights. There were hoots of delight as the group honed in on him. Kyo kept walking without hesitation. There were four of them tonight. Sometimes there were more, so he supposed tonight was his lucky night. A few of the group went to his school, a few were older and had already left. This group always seemed to be lurking in the streets and playgrounds in this area, and shortly after he had moved here with his mum they had very quickly discovered the enjoyment targeting Kyo could give them.

"Oh look what we have here", trilled the leader of the group, Shigure. He was a tall man several years older than Kyo. His younger cousin Masuyo was in the same year as Kyo at school and any incidents at school always resulted in more serious repercussions with Shigure on the streets. Not that Shigure ever got his hands dirty; he had others to do his dirty work for him.

Kyo hated this unfairness, when there were always, and would always be, more of these bastards than him on his own. From the martial arts training he had received from his mum's ex-boyfriend Kazuma he had learnt to respect a fair fight. But these guys… well they just didn't care. And Kyo was always on his own in these fights. Without friends… he was an outsider.

"It's this loser again. Out for a romantic walk under the stars. But… where's your date Kyo? It looks like you're _all alone_. Again." The others cackled at Shigure's awful jokes, despite them being much overused and stale.

"I'm just heading home. Look… I don't want any trouble guys." Kyo tried for peace despite knowing that it was useless with these guys. They laughed in response to his feeble attempt and Kyo felt goosebumps raise on his arms. But… he couldn't tell if he was scared or excited.

It wasn't like he went looking for these fights. But sometimes… on nights like this when everything was too still and he had way too much energy and no outlet… a fight could go down nicely…

"No guys guys, don't laugh" Shigure cautioned in mock seriousness. "Kyos probably already done the deed, ain't that right Kyo? Already wined and dined and… _all_ the rest…" The others could barely contain their laughter as Shigure continued.

Kyo waited with teeth clenched. He knew what was coming. Shigure was a sleazy dog. He discreetly slipped a beaded bracelet from his wrist into the pocket of his jeans. From experience he knew it was safer there. Kyo wasn't one for sentiment, but that bracelet meant something to him. It meant a lot to him actually. It had been from the time when it seemed that his mother and Kazuma would get married. From the happy period in Kyo's childhood.

…He had nearly destroyed it when Kazuma had left. He had been _so_ close. But in the end, he couldn't do it.

So he now hid the bracelet safely away and balanced on the balls of his feet. Ready…

"Though… wandering the streets like this, meeting _charming_ girls… well…" Shigure took a deliberate step towards Kyo, an eyebrow raised suggestively. "You'd better be careful Kyo… you wouldn't want to pick up a whore… and discover it was your mother."

Kyo had launched across the gap between himself and Shigure in an instant. And it wasn't that he hadn't been able to control himself, or even that he was surprised by this action. Comments about his mother always cause his anger to flare like flames.

He landed one satisfying punch squarely on Shigure's cheek before anyone else could move. He kicked out to the side and sent one of the guys sprawling to the ground, but by then the others were on him. He managed a few more wild hits and kicks but their numbers soon overwhelmed him and he struggled against the sharp hold on his arms. A particularly nasty punch to the side of his head sent him reeling and he began to feel the first hints of fear. _Just how far would these guys go?_

"Stop." Shigure's voice came calmly through the chaos. "Let's not waste too much of our time on him."

He reached up to touch the side of his face which was inflamed where Kyo had hit him.

"Besides, I find it rather charming. Makes me wonder if his red-haired mother is as feisty as this… Maybe one day I'll get to find out…"

He grabbed a small handful of gritty mud and smeared it down Kyo's cheek. Kyo struggled to rise but he was still being held by one of the guys and his head was spinning.

"Pathetic" Shigure muttered, and they walked away chuckling lightly. Kyo was left crouching in the street.

Kyo closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to quell the anger and humiliation. He rose unsteadily and stumbled towards the stairwell of his apartment block. He used the railing for support until his hand met something sticky and he quickly let go in disgust. Empty bottles littered the corridor and clinked against each other as he staggered to his flat and let himself in. He carefully closed the door behind him and sank to the floor.

"Fuck" he muttered. "Fuck fuck FUCK!"

He closed his eyes again, attempting to calm himself. He should have killed Shigure for what he'd said about his mum. But there were too many of them, dogging him wherever he went, and he was all alone.

He dragged a chair to the small window and resolved to look out, both for approaching trouble and his mum returning. Now all he could do… was wait.

…

Kyo had dozed off against the wall by the time his mother returned home, his limbs curled up tightly on the chair like a cat. She smiled slightly at his sweetness in trying to wait up for her but felt an equal tinge of sadness. Then she noticed his obvious dishevelment; the blood on his chin, dirt on his face and grazes along his arms. She sighed. He was always getting into fights.

"Kyo?" she murmured gently, "Kyo."

Kyo blinked sleepily and smiled when he saw his mum. Stretching languidly he pushed a hand through his untidy hair, looking even more catlike.

He was pleased to see her. He could go to bed now.

"What happened to you?" his mum asked quietly.

"Oh… nothing? Just, you know…"

"I know Kyo," she sighed. She looked tired but went to the kitchen and soaked a cloth. She brought it to him and tenderly dabbed at the dried blood on his face.

"You don't have to do that mum, don't bother yourself. It's nothing really."

She continued to clean the blood then applied a small amount of cream which stung. Kyo had protested but really he didn't mind. He liked getting to spend any time with his mum.

"Are you ok? There's nothing hurt inside?"

"I'm fine mum."

She carefully stuck a plaster to a cut on his arm then she gathered the items and retuned them to the kitchen, yawning as she did so. She looked worn out, with her hair lank and her make up smudged. Kyo changed into a clean t-shirt for bed.

"How was work?" he asked quietly.

His mother's face seemed to still. "It was fine… you know. Just work."

Kyo regretted having mentioned it. His mother removed her jewellery and stepped into the bathroom to wash her face. When she returned she'd removed her dress and changed into worn pyjamas.

Seeking to distract her from his question Kyo rushed: "I finished all my homework. Well… not all but most. The stuff I didn't do was stupid anyway."

"Well done dear," his mother muttered distractedly as she nibbled on a piece of stale bread. "Thanks for cleaning the kitchen."

Kyo smiled, glad she had noticed. "Maybe I could show you my homework?" He sprang to his feet to retrieve it but his mother seemed not to have heard as she ran a hand tiredly through her long hair. Kyo went instead to take one of the blankets from her. As he did he noticed an angry red mark on her neck. It drew his eyes and he hated how ugly and possessive it looked on his mother's pale skin. He swiftly turned away, wishing he hadn't seen. He didn't mention his homework again.

Kyo made up his bed on the smaller couch as his mother turned off the light. "Are you warm enough?" his mother asked.

"Yeah. What about you? Do you want me to fix you some food?"

"No no," his mum dismissed him, "It's late. You should have been asleep ages ago, you've got school tomorrow."

Kyo frowned into his pillow, thinking of his classes tomorrow and wondering if there would be any trouble with Masuyo at school.

They lay in silence in the dark for some time. Kyo was used to sharing a room with his mother, he had done for several years now. He was used to the sounds of her breathing, her movements. His mother coughed wheezily into the silence and Kyo grimaced in worry.

"I love you" his mother's soft voice drifted to him through the night and a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Love you too mum."

The restlessness and agitation had left Kyo. All his adrenaline and anger was spent. He quickly fell asleep.

.

.

The first fat droplets of rain made the final stage of their journey to earth and extinguished themselves on the grey pavement. They came slowly, unsurely, like the words passed between the two boys. Slow and tentative.

Yuki and Haru walked along the street, together, but with careful distance between them. They were cautious. Their words conveyed little, but their movements revealed much.

Haru looked sideways at the shorter boy. Yuki walked with his arms crossed across his chest, clutching an elbow in each hand as though this could hold together his whole chest. His sharp shoulders pinched upwards and inwards, like his body was punishing itself for taking up so much space.

He spoke softly, and so quietly that Haru had to strain to hear over the sounds of children playing nearby. He didn't say much either.

Haru filled in Yuki's silence with his energy and chatter. Yuki observed curiously how Haru seemed able to switch in an instant from a serious train of thought to a humorous one, like flicking a switch, or lifting a veil. He wondered sadly if either one of these shades was the true Hatsuharu.

When they reached the end of a street Haru paused, bouncing on the balls of his feet. His hand was still bleeding from his earlier outburst, and he touched it now, faintly self-consciously.

"Well this is me" he said, thrusting over his shoulder with his thumb at a winding street beyond.

Yuki nodded, silently.

The walk from the shed to here had been short, and neither of them had spoken of anything noteworthy. And yet... they had somehow shared everything. It was more of a… connection… than Yuki had known in… a long time. And he was miserable at the prospect of their parting.

He stayed silent for a long while and Haru nodded, as though he had expected this silence.

"Alrighty then. See ya!"

There was an undercurrent of melancholy and uncertainty to Haru's bravado. It was this, more than anything, which made Yuki act. As Haru made to turn away with a grimace Yuki took a step forward.

He licked his lips, trying to push the words upwards from where they had lodged in his throat. Haru paused, his head tilted to the side, patiently silent. Yuki struggled for a few more moments.

"I go on Sundays." He finally managed. "I go to the shed… on Sundays. Just… if…?" He chewed on his lower lip fretfully.

Haru smirked, and his eyes sparkled charmingly.

"Next Sunday, it's a date. Goodbye Yuki."

This more sincere parting allowed Yuki to breathe easier. At the same time he could hardly believe he had just invited someone to his private place. Would this impulsive invitation prove to be a huge mistake?

He turned and headed back to the home, as the rain began to hammer down in earnest.

.

Haru and Yuki met the following few Sundays.

The shed was just as it had always been, but now there was a burst of energy there. Energy Yuki wasn't exactly sure he wanted, but wasn't exactly sure he didn't want either.

They talked a lot on these Sundays, general discussions about what they did during the week, but nothing of any weight. With their words they were still cautious, as they had trained themselves to be. With their bodies however, they could hardly help but give away some of their stories.

Haru saw how Yuki was quiet and soft, timid and tired. He noticed that was kind and smart, but that he didn't seem immediately intelligent because he was so quiet. But most of all, he saw the sadness.

Yuki wore his sadness with him always. He carried it deep within him, so deep within his core it was as though it was woven into his bones. You could see it in his eyes and in the tired way he moved his back, as though he were weighted down by it. He was, in fact, tangled so tightly with this sadness that he would hardly know how to live without it.

There are however, many different ways to wear sadness. And, with difficulty, Yuki caught sight of Haru's. Haru's sadness was lightning fast, and nearly impossible to catch before he shook it off, unless you knew what you were looking for. Haru shook himself through countless emotions a day; anger, hurt, happiness, pain, humour… He never allowed one to settle for long, but he felt each one with a piercing clarity as it passed by him.

It was difficult to understand at first, how Haru could be pensive one moment and hyperactive the next. But Yuki began to understand. Haru didn't want to get stuck in a bad place, so something in him sent him rattling through feelings like they were accessories, always steering him away from the Sadness. It was, in many ways, an effective method. Yuki observed that Haru was intelligent and funny and bright, with an often dark sense of humour. But constantly flitting away from sadness is a tiring dance. And after three Sundays of near silent observation Yuki could see how frayed at the edges Haru was.

He wondered if one day Haru would feel comfortable enough to just… _be_ … in front of him. To relax, to stop pretending and just… to be sad. And he wondered if he would, or could, ever be comfortable too. The thought of Haru judging him made Yuki instinctively hug his legs closer on the sagging couch, so tightly it hurt. He pressed his eyes together against the pain, and squeezed harder.

.

They weren't saying anything at all when they first saw the boy who wore his sadness like war paint.

They sat together, with the same careful distance between them, on a crumbling wall near the shed. In companionable silence they savoured the weak autumn sunlight. Haru was sipping on coffee from a Styrofoam cup. He drank a lot of coffee, Yuki noticed. Always the same cheap one from a grimy van a couple of streets away. The side of the cup was emblazoned with a print of Jesus' face and the words 'Have Faith'. Yuki watched as a droplet of coffee slid slowly down Jesus' cheek.

The peace of the afternoon was disturbed by what sounded like hissing. Simultaneously turning to the source of the noise, Haru and Yuki saw a boy stumbling along the street. He wove from side to side, grabbing leaves from hedges and shredding them as he walked so there was a winding green tail after him.

"Bastards" he hissed again.

When he saw them staring at him he smirked devilishly and sauntered over. With surprise Yuki saw a trail of vibrant red blood coming from the boy's ear. Combined with his bright orange hair this made the boy's skin look ghastly pale. Anxiety prickled all over Yuki's body; he hated confrontation and this boy reeked of it. But he didn't want to show this in front of Haru, who had carefully set down his coffee and sat back comfortably, waiting.

In one agile movement the boy had leapt onto the wall and tottered along it until he was standing over them, leering. This close they could smell the alcohol coming off him in nauseating waves.

"What… are you staring at?" the boy slurred down at them.

Yuki felt his back go rigid. His pulse jumped erratically in his neck. Haru's heart rate was increasing too, but his was in anticipation. He stood up slowly and faced the boy on the wall. Yuki looked up at them both. They were the same height, and though the boy's arms looked muscled Haru seemed to be the more impressive of the two, with his straight posture and quiet confidence.

"Well… I'm staring at _you_."

Yuki could hear the smile in Haru's voice and wondered if he wanted a fight today. The boy took a step closer so he was mere inches away from Haru's face.

"Stare away then. Go on. I _dare_ you."

The stench of the boy's breath hit Haru directly and he swallowed uncomfortably.

"You stink" he declared, and Yuki could detect a true anger in his voice.

With both hands Haru gave the boy's chest a firm shove.

It would have been fine ordinarily, even with the small stumble the boy did, if the wall hadn't been so old. As it was he stepped sideways onto a patch of worn brick and plaster which crumbled under his foot. He fell to the ground with a surprised yelp and sat dazed on the dusty road.

"Fuck" he muttered to himself.

Haru and Yuki looked at each other in surprise. The boy held up a shaking hand which was grazed and coated in a light layer of dust, and choked out a laugh.

"Fuck. Whatever" he muttered again, and his voice broke desperately.

He rested his head in his hands, smearing dirt and blood into his bright hair as he did so. Now Yuki and Haru's gazes turned serious. This boy wasn't as old as he had first seemed, and his fierceness was chipping away like an old coat of paint. They both stood down from the wall and watched as the boy in the dirt shook his head back and forth, still clutched in his hand.

"We can't… we can't just leave him." Yuki said, though he would sorely have liked to.

"Hmm, can't we?" Haru inquired with a sceptical glance.

Yuki sighed. "I… don't think we should" he almost whispered.

Now Haru sighed. He would have just left the kid. But since he'd been hanging out with Yuki… well it seemed like they would have each other's backs. And if this was important to Yuki…

He groaned melodramatically. "Fine, I know you're right!" he declared, "The shed?"

Yuki nodded. They lifted the boy under his arms, one on either side. He struggled blearily.

"Hey stop that. It's your lucky day punk, Yuki doesn't want to let the cops find you like this." The boy stopped struggling so much.

"Hey grab my coffee, I'm not wasting anything I paid for." Yuki smiled slightly as he scooped up Haru's cup.

They staggered inside the shed with difficulty and deposited the boy unceremoniously onto the couch. Haru sat down on the arm of the couch and the boy edged away, watching warily.

"Hey don't flatter yourself, I'm not interested." Haru laughed and accepted his coffee from Yuki.

"It's just…" Haru turned a shade more serious, "Whoever did this to you…" he indicated Kyo's bleeding face, "Well… you're not in a fit state to be meeting them again. And that's not really fair so…" he tailed off and shrugged.

The boy seemed to soften at these words. He settled back blearily against the couch.

"S'just that bastard Shigure… he found out where I work so that's… that's…that's really not going to be fun." He laughed again, but very gently, and very sadly. "Doesn't matter anyway… I could take him any day. Yeah any day. But… so many…"

His head lolled sideways against the couch and he blinked slowly.

"What's your name?" Yuki asked quietly. The boy opened one eye and stared up at Yuki for a moment.

"Kyo" he murmured. Yuki nodded.

Kyo let his eyes drift closed again. "Lovely place you have... g'night stranger one and… and… stranger two..."

He drifted gently into a quiet sleep, slumped sideways in the sagging couch.

Haru and Yuki's eyes met over his sleeping form. Haru downed the rest of his cold coffee and dropped the cup to the floor.

"Well that was quite something." Yuki nodded in agreement.

"He's not coming back here." It was a statement but also a question.

"No," Yuki confirmed, "He's not invited." This boy was so muddled up, there could be no peace with him near.

Suddenly Haru was deeply serious. "I won't have alcohol in here. As long as I'm here I don't want that."

Yuki looked into those dark, guarded eyes. He didn't ask why. He understood better than to ask.

"No," he confirmed once again. "Kyo won't be back here."

Between them Kyo slept, curled up and peaceful as he never was in wakefulness, with the shield of his anger dissolved.

He had a bizarre dream of a cow, a rat and a cat playing in a field together. And it felt like… what he imagined friendship would feel like. He wouldn't remember the dream when he woke up, but he smiled while he slept.

Whether Haru and Yuki wanted it or not, Kyo would be returning to the shed.

.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading, and for waiting for this update. I had a great time on holiday so now I'm happy to be back to this.**


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